


Today I Woke Up Smiling

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural/Firefly
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-01
Updated: 2008-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2238174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster





	1. Chapter 1

"Hey. Winchester."

Sam Winchester sprawls backward in his chair and grins, wide and full. "Gorram. Malcolm Reynolds, as I live and breathe."

Mal's never seen the Winchesters more than a room's length apart; he doesn't jump when a hand falls on his shoulder, knowing it's Dean. "Hump me sideways, Mal; what the hell are you doing here?"

The smile that breaks out 'cross Mal's face feels as out of place as eyebrows on a dog, it's been so long since he's had a reason to wear it. "Same thing as you. Washing the taste of purplebelly hospitality out of my mouth." He nods toward the pale band on Sam's wrist. He's got one of his own under the sleeve of his coat.

Sam kicks out a chair at him. "We got plenty to go around, you want to sit and set a spell."

Mal turns and catches Zoe's eye, nodding at the Winchester's table. She tips her chin in understanding.

"Gotta say I'm surprised to see the two of you," Mal admits, flipping his chair front to back and straddling the seat.

"Yeah?" Dean fills the three earthenware cups with his usual disregard, spilling ale on the scarred up wood-composite of the table. "Why's that?"

"Last I heard, you guys were with the Darts."

"Yeah, sounds about right."

Mal's never had a hint that Sam's the least bit sly, but it's a bit unnerving, the way Sam keeps eyeballing him, like _he's_ the one that didn't expect to be seeing Mal alive. Mal supposes that's fair enough. Enough people died in the War to populate a moon or two. Sometimes Mal's a fair bit amazed _anyone_ lived to make it out, including himself. "Heard the Darts were wiped out 'long Sunback Ridge."

Sam and Dean's faces both get hard and frozen; Sam's leg stops jittering.

"They were," Dean says shortly.

 _Ah._ Mal knows that voice. Used it himself a time or seven.

"To the Alliance." Mal hoists his cup. Sam and Dean mirror him.

They pour out their ale on the floor.

***

"You think he knows?" Dean scratches his nose, breath smoking.

Sam gives him an ironical look, mouth crooking. "We look a few years younger than he does, Dean. No, I don't think he knows." He tugs his own coat closer, shrugging his shoulders to settle the fit. Sometimes Dean thinks the only reason Sam came down on the side of the Browncoats was because it was so hard for him to get clothes in his size on the inner planets. They've got more planets than they know what to do with, but at the same time, it seems like the world's gotten so small.

They don't know what happened. They don't know why it happened. Too many deals with demons and devils, maybe, trying to keep each other alive through another day. And now all they have is days, an endless procession of them.

Days...and the job.

And each other.

Maybe it's punishment, maybe it's fate, but Dean thinks there's a lot worse ways to go through time than with his little bro.

"It's too bad about his mom." Dean looks sideways at Sam, trying to read his face. "I liked her. We should've stayed on Shadow longer."

Sam's mouth spreads out into a thin, ugly line. "How long, Dean? Long enough for everyone to tell we're not getting any older?" He jerks Dean's sleeve. "We left because we had to. We always leave because we have to. Come on. Let's get back to _The Impala_."

"Yeah." Dean bumps Sam with his shoulder, relieved when Sam jostles him back. "That _hundan_ better not have have messed with her intake valves, or I'm cracking skulls."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's in a mood, so Dean lets him do all the pre-flight checks even though Sam always shakes _The Impala_ , burning too hot out of the gravity well. Instead, he goes down to tinker with the engine a bit, make sure it'll hold up through Sam's heavy hand on the yoke. 

Dean hadn't been sure _The Impala_ would still be waiting for them when they got out of the Alliance camp. The Alliance had confiscated all monies and properties of anyone who had participated on the Browncoat side as war damages and, though Dean had every faith in Sam's ability to perf the Cortex, he wasn't sure the hasty hacks Sam had set up to protect _The Impala_ would hold up against scrutiny. It was better to be accused of stealing her than losing her, though. 

And now she was theirs again.

Though Dean was glad—more than glad—to see that Mal had made it through the war in one piece—and though he'd never say it to Sam—Dean thinks he's actually just that little bit happier to have his girl under his feet again than anything else. 

He'd really liked Kerri—Mal's mom. _Really_ liked her. But of course, she'd only had eyes for Sam. It just figured and Dean hadn't spent any time pining over it; Kerri's sister Sarah had been more than happy to get him over the hump of his heartbreak, but Sam had done enough pining for both of them when they'd had to leave Shadow. 

If Dean had a regret about the whole thing—other than having to tear Sam out of there at all—it was Sam not being able to give Mal his last name. But there were large sections of the 'verse where Winchester was still _hui_ —unlucky. And places where anyone with the Winchester last name was just looking for a good kicking. A kicking if they were _lucky_.

_If you don't settle down right now, The Winchesters will come and get you. They'll tear you apart and salt you and make soup from your bones._

"Are you ready to go yet?" Sam's voice snarls from the loudspeaker suddenly, making Dean jump and slam his head into the overhanging beam. The only part of Chinese Dean really liked was the cursing; he let vent loudly and profanely.

"Your accent is horrible." Sam really _is_ in full bitch-mode, tone pinched and sour. "How is it that it's been hundreds of years and you still can't manage a decent pronunciation?"

"Maybe I'm just not the suck-up you are," Dean growls in reply, rubbing the tender spot on his scalp. He thinks he's probably concussed. It'll fade in seconds, like all their injuries do, but for that first minute, the combination of pain and the vertigo of healing make him sick. 

Sam grumbles something that the tinny mike can't pick up. "Are you ready or not?"

Dean opens his mouth to give the affirmative when the polite chime of the outside call-switch interrupts them. "Hail the ship." Mal's voice follows the query bell. "Anybody home?"


End file.
